


Summertime Sadness

by Alsodances



Category: Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers Movies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alsodances/pseuds/Alsodances
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bake Baker has had a hard life. Stuck in the middle of the Great Depression and with an alcoholic father to take care of, he finds that Sherry Martin has returned to town for the summer - having moved away six years prior. Picking up where they left off, they slowly begin to fall for one another...but will it be forever this time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all and welcome. This story follows the characters Bake Baker and Sherry Martin from Follow the Fleet (1936), however it is completely AU. Basically the only thing true to the movie is the character names. Hope you enjoy :)

**Chapter One**

            _Where are you going? – You’re not leaving – I have to – Isn’t there anything...? – I can’t stand it anymore! – I’ll be waiting – Goodbye – Get Out! – No, please! – GET OUT!!_

Vernon Baker’s eyes flickered open, the last phrase ringing loud and clear along with the sound of glass shattering. The voices were gone. There was no one around. The only sounds were that of the cooing mourning doves. Sitting up, he looked around at the scenery before him. He had fallen asleep in the middle of a field, under the protection of a large shady tree. Oddly enough, this was not the first time he had done that.

            Deciding that his best bet was to start on back to town, Vernon...or Bake, as most people called him, rose and started on his weary trek.

            Once he reached the road, he stopped for a moment, wiping the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief before lighting a cigarette. When he looked up, he saw a car parked on the side of the road a few metres away.

            A man was leaning against the open door with his arms crossed against the top of the frame, chewing bubblegum in an almost cartoonish way. His fedora rested on his head at a jaunty angle and the pattern on his tie was rather tacky. He had ears that stuck out, eyes that drooped, and a crooked grin; a handsome face in a perfectly ordinary way. It was Bake’s friend, Harry Wallace.

            “Hi-ya, friendless, I thought I’d find you out here.” Harry smirked, resting his chin on his arms.

            Bake smirked, “Morning – guess this is kind of turning into a routine, eh?” Every time this seemed to happen, Harry was always waiting for him by the side of the road. “What’s the date today?”

            “June twentieth, nineteen hundred and thirty six,” He paused. “Your dad kick you out again?”

            Bake’s smile faded, his shoulders drooped slightly as he trudged over to Harry’s car. “Yup.”

            “I don’t know why you always choose to come to this fine establishment,” Harry gestured to the woods, “Unless you like talking to animals or something.”

            Bake sighed as Harry chuckled, both getting into the car.

            The closer they got to town, the more anxious Bake began to feel. He played with his fingers nervously as his dream played in his mind for the thousandth time. Every night it was the same – a flashback of events that had happened six years ago.

            It would be six years in August since he had seen his mother last. He didn’t know where she was. When she found that she could not handle the pressure of the depression she just up and left, leaving her husband and her poor son alone to fend for themselves. It would have been more endurable too, had his father not turned to rye for comfort.

            “Bake, you know that my door’s always open,” Harry was saying, pulling him out of his nightmare. “If you can’t take living with your Pop anymore, my family would be happy to –”

            Bake waved his hand in dismissal, “Aw, shut up, will you? You sound like a sap.”

            “I’m serious though, kid. I’m sure Ma would rather have you around than me.”

            “Thanks Harry.” Bake smiled in appreciation, though he felt awkward and a little embarrassed that he was looked upon as not being able to take care of himself.

Seeming to sense his awkwardness, Harry changed the subject, “The boss wants us in for rehearsal today.”

“I don’t know what for,” Bake scoffed. “We already know everything backwards and forwards.”

“Well, you could use a little work – you’ve been sounding a bit flat lately.” Harry joked.

Bake shot him a mock glare before resting his cheek in his palm, looking out the window. Had he been sounding flat...? “Really?” Bake asked worriedly.

Harry laughed, “You’re a worrier if I ever saw one, kid. I swear one of these days you’re going to work yourself into a beautiful nervous breakdown.”

****

The dance hall was steaming hot by noon. A sheen of sweat seemed to cover everything. Collars wilted, ties were loosened or were discarded all together, and sleeves were rolled up. They had been rehearsing for four hours already.

            Harry and the brass section were fooling around – engaging in the dressing room comradery that comes with life in show business. Bake was still practicing. The poor piano player couldn’t catch a break.

            “Can I have that bar again, Jimmy?” Bake stared intently at his sheet music.

            Jimmy the Piano Player sighed. He began to play but stopped abruptly, slamming his hands on the keys. He fingered his collar uncomfortably and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

            “Bake, we’ve been at this since nine this morning – I think it sounds alright.”

            “No, there’s just something...” Bake rested his thumb and forefinger on his lips as he looked at the paper. Before he could request anything else, Harry intervened.

            “Take a break Jimmy, we’ll start again in a little while,” He dismissed him as he put a hand on Bake’s shoulder. Jimmy the Piano Player sighed in relief before getting up to join the rest of the band.

            “C’mon, Harry, I almost had it!” Bake protested.

            “You got it an hour ago.” He told his worrisome friend, “Look, it’s fine if you want it to be perfect, but don’t drag the boys down with you.”

            “Hey, he’s the one that wanted the job,” Bake smirked as they walked over to the rest of the band.

            “Alright, I’m starving to death.” One of the trumpet players said as he grabbed his jacket, “Anyone want anything?”

            The band began to shout out their orders. Bake took a bill out of his wallet and handed it to the trumpet player, “Pick something up for me, too – anything.”

            Bake turned around to see Harry looking at a photograph.

            “Hey, I remember this!” He grinned, holding up the photo for Bake to see.

            Horrified, Bake tried to snatch it away, but Harry’s reflexes were faster and he moved before Bake could grab it. The photo must have fallen out of his wallet a moment ago.

            Harry sat down, putting his feet up and leaning back.

            “I remember that summer,” he said nostalgically. “I remember that girl, too.”

            “Sherry Martin.” Bake said curtly. It was a picture of the three of them, young and carefree, standing on a river bank. The boys were gangly and awkward, the pains of puberty. They were both sixteen, while Sherry was only fourteen. Even at a young age she was still beautiful; her hair like sunflowers and her eyes like sapphire. She was wicked and graceful and full of personality. She was the complete opposite of him. Bake loved her.

            “C’mon, give it back, will you?” He tried grabbing the photo again.

            “You and her were inseparable – I remember you were crushed when she moved away.”

            “I was not.”

            “Then how come you’re so keen on keeping this with you.”

            “Only ‘cause I turned out so well in it.” Bake finally snatched the photo away, kicking one of the legs of Harry’s chair, causing Harry to fall backwards.

          “Boy, I always knew you’d be the one to get dizzy with a dame,” Harry laughed as he got up, brushing off his pants.

            “Who ever said I was in love with her?” Bake asked defensively.

            “Oh, you’re in denial – that’s cute.”

            “Hey, don’t get me wrong – she’s a cute kid – she’s just not the kind of girl I’d go after.” Bake tried to explain.

Harry looked at him in amusement, “Whatever you say, kid.”

Bake sighed and followed Harry on stage as the rest of the band members began to take their places, waiting for lunch to arrive.

****

Saturday nights were usually busy. Men and women tended to come out in groves in their finest evening clothes – everyone trying desperately to escape the bleakness of the depression. Bake was always surprised that they would rather come to a crumby night club like this instead of going to the cinema to watch the picture stars. He’d rather watch Bing Crosby sing on screen than watch Harry sing live.

But, a lot of the female audience was due to Harry. Women fawned over his average-Joe handsomeness, his droopy eyes and crooked smile, his easy-going nature and, of course, his voice.

Though he and Harry both shared singing duties, it was Harry who they came to see. No one wanted to see Bake. He was a skinny son of a gun with a long face, long nose, big ears, and pointed chin. His brown eyes were like those of a dachshund puppy. He knew he was funny looking, and he couldn’t imagine anyone thinking he was handsome. Not when he was standing next to Harry, at least. But what he lacked in attractiveness, he made up for in talent. He was a triple threat, as they called it in show business, emphasis on the dancing. Maybe a motion picture company would swoop him up if they could only look past his features.

Bake played absently as he looked around at the people having a good time. Sometimes he wished he was among them, but most times he preferred being on stage, performing for them and watching them have fun.

As his eyes scanned the room, he thought he saw a familiar face, dancing with someone who was not. He did a double take, furrowing his eyebrows. What was she doing here?

Everything else was a blur as he focused his attention on her.

He was suddenly sixteen again, laughing as he and Sherry splashed through the creek by their houses. They would always come home wet and muddy, a scolding already waiting for them when they got there. They were wild youths, forgetting the past and not caring about the future. Little did they know that their future would be altered.

Bake stopped playing. Some of the band members looked at him questioningly, but he just gestured to keep playing, shooting a glance at Harry before hopping off stage. He weaved through the crowd, trying to get to her.

“Sherry! ... Sherry!” Bake called out. He searched the whole club, but she was not there.

He stopped when he got outside, looking up and down the street frantically.

But she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

            Bake strolled along the sidewalk, whistling cheerfully. Breakfast didn’t exist at home, so he had decided to stop by Harry’s. It was as if his mother had been standing at the door for as soon as he knocked, she answered.

“Morning, Mrs. Wallace, how are you?” Bake smiled politely.

“I’m fine thank you. Come on in, Bake – Harry’s just upstairs getting ready.” Mrs. Wallace was like a mother to him, looking out for him as if he were her own son. The whole family, in fact, was much too kind.

Bake removed his boater hat as he stepped inside, following Mrs. Wallace into the kitchen. He sat down at the table, draping himself over the chair like a blanket. Had he been at anyone else’s house he would have been sitting ramrod straight, but he was comfortable enough.

He could hear Harry whistling as he descended the stairs, buttoning his shirt cuff.

“Morning, Bake,” he greeted him as if he always saw him sitting at the table every morning.

“Morning, kid,” Bake sat up as Mrs. Wallace placed a plate in front of him.

“Your Pop kick you out already?” Harry asked as he sat down. Mrs. Wallace shot her son a glare, warning him not to speak out of line.

“Not exactly; I just figured I should get out of there before he wakes up. He’s not that pleasant to be around with a hangover.”

“Or at all,” Harry said under his breath which warranted a smack on the back of the head from his mother. Harry became serious, “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, I’m fine.” Bake lied. He gave Harry a look that meant he would talk about it later. He didn’t like Mrs. Wallace worrying about him. She had enough to take care of already.

“Oh, Harry!” Mrs. Wallace suddenly remembered something, “They’re having a picnic in the park downtown this afternoon; could you be a dear and take that pot of stew down?”

Harry sighed, “Sure, Ma.”

Bake shoveled a last forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth before thanking Mrs. Wallace and following Harry out of the kitchen.

Harry set the pot down as he grabbed his jacket and hat. Bake grabbed his boater.

“How bad is it?” He asked Bake quietly.

“My shoulder’s sore and I can feel a bruise forming on my chest,” Bake frowned.

Harry just sighed and shook his head as he picked up the pot and stepped outside.

The park was bustling with people chatting and laughing. Some were sitting at a long table, while others were dancing under a large gazebo. A band played quietly in the background.

“More food for the feast,” Harry announced as he placed the pot in an empty space on the table.

“Gosh, I haven’t seen this much food since Arthur Murphy’s Christmas party in ’28.” Bake marveled at the abundance of dishes. The depression had been hard.

Harry swallowed, his eyes wide, “I wish I had my drool cup with me.”

The boys sat down. Harry dug in happily while Bake leaned back, fanning himself with his hat.

“Leave some for the rest of us, Harry,” a tall brunette smirked. It was Lizzie Adams, a friend of the boys’ and an occasional date of Harry’s. Bake stood up in acknowledgement while Harry just waved his hand dismissively. “Hey, Bake, there’s a girl I want you to meet.”

“Thanks, Liz, but I don’t really –”

“C’mon, Bake, she’s...charming...once you get to know her.” Lizzie gestured for someone to come over.

A little brunette with a button nose and large eyes approached them. Bake smiled politely, standing.

“Bake, this is Connie Peterson; Connie, this is Vernon Baker...’cept everyone around here calls him Bake.” Lizzie introduced them.

“Pleasure,” Bake shook her hand.

They both sat down as Lizzie walked away, Harry was focused on his plate.

“So, uh...are you new in town? I’ve never seen you before.” Bake wasn’t really interested.

“My father just got a job here – although I don’t know what it is he does exactly. I don’t mind the move though, this is such a lovely town, I don’t think I’d want to be anywhere else, even my mother likes it and she would have rather been left behind than move away –”

Bake sighed internally as he leaned back. So she was a talker; great. He looked around, trying to drown out the girls nonstop babbling. She didn’t seem to notice.

He looked down along the table, looking for no one in particular. Oh, Father O’Reilly was here, same with Mayor Jefferson and his wife. He heard the laughter of a group sitting at the other end of the table and his eyes followed the sound. The laughter was infectious and he felt his lips curl up into a smile.

He met an innocent pair of sapphire eyes, and suddenly his stomach was a bundle of knots. The eyes smiled politely before looking away, not knowing who they had glanced upon. He couldn’t look away. He wanted to move but he was frozen in place. His brain couldn’t tell his body what his heart wanted to do.

Bake didn’t know whether he had interrupted that talkative girl when he got up, but he didn’t really care. He tried to excuse himself as politely as possible before walking away. Besides, she could always talk to Harry.

He willed his legs forward – almost there. Smoothing his hair and straightening his tie, he took a deep breath.

“Sh-Sherry,” he stuttered.

She turned at the sound of her name.

Bake had almost expected her to be the same cute little gal that he had spent many a day with during his youth. Of course, that would have been impossible. Time had changed her from a blossoming young lady to a beautiful woman. Her once wild sunflower hair was now tamed and silky, styled into a long curly bob. Her face was powdered, her lips painted red, and her lashes bathed in mascara. But one thing remained constant – those sapphire eyes that held all the carefree and joyousness for life in the world.

Sherry Martin smiled politely up at him, “Hello.” She didn’t recognize him.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” He asked.

“Of course.”

Bake sat down next to her. The rest of the group was distracted so they were somewhat free to talk privately. Bake was glad that it would save him a little embarrassment.

“You probably don’t recognize me,” he laughed nervously, looking at his hands, “But it’s me – Bake Baker.”

Sherry’s eyes widened as a grin spread across her lips, “Bake!” She jumped into his arms, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. Bake laughed in relief.

Sherry planted a kiss on his cheek, sitting on his lap with her arms around his neck loosely. A nervous laugh escaped Bake’s lips as he blushed fiercely.

“What a surprise seeing you here!” She giggled.

Bake’s heart was beating so loud he could hear it, hopefully she didn’t notice, “I didn’t realize I was the one who had moved away.”

Sherry rolled her eyes as she hugged him again. When she pulled away, her lips were curled into a deliciously mischievous grin, “Father O’Reilly doesn’t approve of me sitting on you.”

Bake looked back at the priest who was watching them carefully.

“C’mon,” Sherry grabbed his hand and led him onto the pathway, “Fill me in on everything that’s happened since I moved away.”

“You know it’s been six years, right?” He asked in amusement. He held back a sigh as he looked at her. “You look lov- er, different. I hardly recognized you.”

“And I didn’t recognize you at all,” Sherry admitted guiltily. “I’m sorry, Bake, but you look so different.”

“I would hope I do! Remember how awful I looked back then?” They both laughed.

Couples began to get up and dance as the band began to play _Missouri Waltz._ Bake nodded to the dance floor questioningly. Sherry smiled and nodded.

They twirled gracefully into the group of couples. Bake smirked to himself – he had found a way to get close to her. He’d give himself a high-five if he could. _Atta Boy,_ he thought to himself. _Thanks, kid._

“I thought you hated dancing,” Bake teased.

“Only with people who have two left feet.”

“Oh, so you don’t like dancing with yourself.”

Sherry swatted him playfully but couldn’t hold back her laughter, pulling herself closer to laugh into his shoulder.

“Where are you staying?” He asked.

Sherry lifted her head from his shoulder as she tried to stop her laughter, “We rented a house on our old street.”

“The whole family’s here?”

“Yup. They would’ve much rather gone to Europe or something, but I convinced them to come here.”

Bake let out a low whistle, “Europe,” he said, impressed that they had enough money to go anywhere.

“Uh huh,” Sherry nodded. “I could be dancing with an Italian right now...or kissing a Frenchman – I’ve heard stories y’know-”

“Okay, okay.” Bake stopped her which only made Sherry snicker.

“Aw, is someone jealous?” Her lips turned into a mock pout.

“No! I just...it’s better to leave some things unsaid, isn’t it?” Sherry was about to say something else but Bake stopped her. “Can I just enjoy this dance, please?”

“Alright, Vernon, I’ll shut up.”

That was another thing he liked about Sherry – she called him by his given name. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the nickname “Bake” – it was the fact that it felt like only those who were closest to him called him by his name; and hearing Sherry say it after six years felt grand.

He pulled her closer, whistling along to the waltz as they glided around the floor.

****

“May I walk you home?” Bake asked. They were among the last at the park. It had gotten dark a few hours ago and the band was finally packing up.

“Sure,” Sherry smiled as he handed her her purse. She slipped her arm through the crook of his as they crossed the street, heading out of downtown.

It was a short walk to her house. Bake could still remember the way, probably able to navigate with his eyes closed. It was a cute little place she was staying in – one with a nice porch and a little picket fence.

He stopped when they reached the front door, “Well, goodnight.” He lifted his hat.

“Goodnight,” she said sincerely. “It was wonderful seeing you again.”

“May I call on you tomorrow?” He hoped she hadn’t picked up how desperate he was to see her.

“Ten o’clock,” she nodded. “If you wake me up before that, your head is mine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bake smirked.

They gazed at each other for a few seconds. Sherry looked at her feet shyly.

“Well, I guess I better go.” She sighed, “’night.”

Bake stood on the porch for a few moments, finally catching his breath. Putting his hands in his pockets, he walked away, turning his head towards the sky in defiance. He hadn’t felt this good in _ages_. He practically danced his way home as he whistled to himself.

The house was dark as he stepped inside, still whistling a cheerful tune. As he rounded the corner he saw a light on. He froze – his father was still up. Bake tried to sneak down the hallway but he heard his father’s drunken grumble.

“Enough with that stupid whistle,” He ordered. “Are you a goddamn canary?”

Bake gulped as he walked towards the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Pop, it’s just that I’ve had the most wonderful night and –”

His father was out of his chair, grabbing Bake by the collar and pushing him into the wall. “Shut up,” he snarled. His eyes were the colour of cognac, as if the brandy he had been drinking had made a physical mark on him.

“Yes, sir,” Bake could hardly speak.

His father released his grip and Bake quietly escaped to his room.

At least this time he was able to escape unscathed. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

            Insomnia gripped Bake that night, but for a completely different reason. He lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, planning tomorrow’s adventure for Sherry. What should he wear? Where should he take her? Romantic or adventurous? The old hang out spots or something new?

            It was almost four in the morning when he finally fell asleep in his shirttails. For the first time in years, he didn’t have the same dream.

            He finally stirred when a cool breeze blew through his open window. His clock read half past eight. He never set his alarm – he knew it would only warrant a beating from father.

            Bake flipped over and sat up, stretching his limbs. He hadn’t slept in the most comfortable position in the world. He slipped on a pair of tan trousers and changed his shirt to that of a pale yellow, rolling the sleeves up mid-bicep.

            His father was still asleep when he peeked into his room. He was holding onto an empty bottle of whiskey, half his body hanging off the bed.

            Bake sighed as he went to open the window in order to air the room out. It reeked of alcohol. He retrieved the bottle from his father’s hands before walking out. Before he could leave, his father spoke.

            “You wearin’ a jacket today?” He asked sleepily.

            “No....It’s pretty hot and I planned on going down to the creek.” Bake replied wearily.

            “Put a jacket on – you look like a poor son of a bitch.” With that he turned his head and went back to sleep.

            “I am a poor son of a bitch,” Bake chuckled as he went back to his room to retrieve his sports jacket.

            He put the empty bottle of booze on the kitchen counter before buttering a slice of bread, eating it as he plopped his fedora on and put on a pair of sunglasses.

            “I’m taking the car, Pop,” he yelled as he stepped outside, shutting the door before he could hear a reply.

            Back in the booming twenties, his father had made the rather wise decision of buying a convertible. It wasn’t that a convertible was a smarter choice or anything, but Bake liked looking as though he had a bit of wealth, driving with the top down aside the dirty sedans that motored down the road. He made sure to keep the car in tip top shape.

            He threw his jacket on the back seat and got in, backing out of the driveway and letting out a rebel yell as he sped down the road.

            A few minutes later, he was pulling up in front of Sherry’s house. Bake got out and strode up to the front door, putting his jacket on to look a bit more presentable. For once, he was thankful for his father’s comment.

            He knocked on the door, taking his hat off politely. He frowned when Lizzie answered, “Oh, it’s just you.”

            “And good morning to you, too,” Lizzie smirked, leaning on the door frame.

            “Is Sherry here?”

            “Yes.”

            Bake waited for more information, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

            “...Can I see her...?” He asked after a moment’s silence.

            “I don’t know, can you?” Bake rolled his eyes at her, but she just smiled and laughed, “I’m just kidding, come on in – she’s in the kitchen.”

            Lizzie shut the door after he stepped inside.

            “Is, uh, Harry with you?” She asked.

            “No, he’s down at the drugstore. He had to pick up shoelaces or something.”

            Sherry stepped into the foyer and grinned when she saw Bake, “Good morning.”

            “’Morning,” Bake smiled, his heart melting as he met her gaze.

            “Goodbye.” Lizzie said suddenly, snapping her friends out of their daze.

            “Where are you going?” Sherry asked.

            “Going to see if Harry needs any help – the poor boy was always so indecisive.” Lizzie grabbed her hat and walked out the door.

            Bake turned his attention back to Sherry, “Ready to go?”

            “I’ve been ready since you left last night,” Sherry admitted, looking at the ground shyly. “Don’t you want to come in for a minute, though? Eat something?”

            “Oh, no thanks, I’ve already had breakfast,” With that, Bake’s stomach gave him away, growling loudly in the silence.

            “I’ve got pancakes on the table,” Sherry said in finality, grabbing his hand before he could say anything and leading him to the kitchen.

            He stifled a sigh when he saw that Mr. and Mrs. Martin were sitting at the table. If he had known they would be here he would’ve worn a tie.

            “Oh, hello,” Bake said, smoothing his shirt.

            “Good morning, Vernon,” Mr. Martin said without looking up from his newspaper. He would’ve rather him call him Bake.

            “Good morning, sir,” Bake held out his hand. Mr. Martin shook it reluctantly. “Good morning, Mrs. Martin.”

            “It’s nice to see you again,” Mrs. Martin smiled warmly.

            Sherry pushed Bake into a seat, putting a plate of pancakes in front of him, “Eat.” She instructed.

            “Yes, ma’am,” Bake chuckled, drenching his food with syrup.

            “So Vernon,” Mr. Martin sat back, folding his newspaper, “where do you plan to take my daughter today?”

            “Oh, I don’t know,” Bake thought, taking another bite of his pancakes. “I thought maybe revisit our old stomping ground – go down to the creek...” he watched as a frown began to form on Mr. Martin’s face so he decided to back track a bit. “But, maybe we’ll just go to a nice cafe or something...”

            “We should join you!” Mrs. Martin exclaimed. “Wouldn’t it be fun?”

            Bake would have said something had his mouth not been full. Thankfully Sherry spoke up.

            “Oh, no,” she laughed. “Don’t you dare intrude on my date.”

            Bake choked. _What?!_

            “You know, in my day, your mother’s father was always present as a chaperone.” Mr. Martin reminded Sherry.

            She put her hands on his shoulders, kissing his cheek. “Yes, father, thank you for reminding me how outdated those customs are. Come on, Bake, let’s go before they decide to chaperone us.”

            A little confused, Bake excused himself, following Sherry into the foyer.

            “Is this a...date?” Bake asked as he watched her pin on a hat.

            “Now, Vernon, is that what you think it is?” She asked in a mockingly sweet voice.

            “But –”

            Sherry just laughed as she pulled him out the door. She let out a low whistle when she saw his car, “1926 Chandler Model 33 – nice.”

            A shiver ran through Bake, “I didn’t know you knew about cars.”

            “Oh sure,” she smiled. “I know all about the rumble seat, too.”

            Bake frowned, “I hope that’s a lie.”

            “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sherry winked at him as she got into the passenger seat.

            “Hey! I was supposed to open the door for you – y’know, like a gentleman.” Bake objected as he got into the driver’s side.

            “Oh, poor baby,” Sherry pinched his cheek.

            “Aw, shut up.”

            They looked at each other and burst out laughing. It was just like old times. Sometimes seeing someone after years of being apart can create an awkward tension, thankfully that was not the case.

            “Where to, Sherry, darling?” Bake asked in his best posh accent.

            “Oh, Vernon, let’s go to the creek!” She exclaimed. “And let’s go see a picture tonight, that new Bill and Minnie picture is finally in town – _The Great Ziegfeld_ , or something like that.”

            “Of course! Why don’t we invite Harry and Lizzie and go to that old drive in.”

            “That’s still there?” Sherry asked excitedly.

            “It’ll stay there until it falls to the ground.”

            Bake turned onto a dirt road and pulled over after a while. He raised his hand to stop Sherry, getting out of the car and walking around to open her door.

            “You happy now?” Sherry asked.

            “Very,” Bake beamed. “Now c’mon,” they linked arms, wandering down the field towards the creek.

            “Oh, Vernon,” she sighed in contentment, leaning her head against his shoulder. “It hasn’t changed a bit.”

            “Still the same old muddy hangout,” he smirked, looking around at the eroding cliffs on the other side. He chuckled when he remembered how Harry had broken his arm trying to climb them.

            They walked down the path that hugged the creek beds.

            The path ended rather quickly, and Sherry stopped. “I don’t remember it being this short,” she frowned.

            “’Cause we hardly ever took the path,” Bake laughed. “Besides, you were smaller then.”

            “Let’s go back,” Sherry tried to turn around but Bake grabbed her arm.

            “Oh, no, you don’t,” Bake laughed. “We’re going up that muddy slope.”

            “Please, Bake, I’ll wreck my shoes.” She frowned.

            “Aw, now what ever happened to the Sherry I used to know?”

            Sherry rolled her eyes and trudged ahead. When she reached the muddy climb she turned to look at Bake, “You go first.” She ordered.

            “All right, all right,” Bake strolled along. Grabbing hold of a branch, he hoisted himself up, steadying himself in the dry mud. “See, you won’t sink in – it’s dry.”

            Sherry stepped up, and her shoe sunk into the ground, “Vernon Baker I’m going to kill you!”

            Bake doubled over in laughter. How perfect!

            He felt something cold and wet hit his shoulder. When he looked down, he saw a brown stain. Sherry was taking off her shoes, smiling mischievously at him.

            “You little...” Bake trailed off as he grabbed a handful of mud. Sherry screamed with laughter, running across the slope to try and get away from him. He threw, and it landed right in the middle of her back.

            They went back and forth for a while, and by the time they had reached the other side, they were covered in mud and sweat.

            They sat on the grassy top, looking down at the rushing water and laughing like children.

            “My parents are going to kill me,” Sherry laughed.

            “Same with my Pop,” Bake snickered, leaning back on his hands.

            “What about your mother?” She asked.

            Bake’s laughter subsided as he suddenly remembered – Sherry didn’t know. He looked down, studying his feet, “Well...um...” should he tell her?

            “What’s wrong, Vernon?” All the teasing and joking was gone. She looked up at him with concern.

            “I haven’t....seen Ma...in six years,” Bake said slowly, staring at his feet. “I dream about the night she left every night. It follows me like a dark cloud over my head.”

            Sherry didn’t say anything, and she didn’t need to. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

And as he stared out into the forest across the creek, Bake was transported back to his days as a youth. He had spent his childhood being told what to do, and what he was going to do when he grew up. You see, most kids in town grew up to do what their parents did; the Johnson boys would take over their father’s construction company; the Carlton kids – the local drug store. And if a kid’s family was poor or full of drunks, then the poor sons of bitches wouldn’t see a better day.

            Bake had grown up shadowing his father’s job as a carpenter. He learned how to use his hands at a young age, assigned small projects to keep him out of the way.

            Then Sherry came along.

            He was fourteen when his eyes were first opened to the world around him. His father was disappointed when Bake decided to continue onto high school. But Bake no longer wanted to be trapped in the family line of work. He found himself learning how to dance and sing and picking up instruments. He tried his hand at poetry and studied science and history. He would escape down to the creek with Sherry and Harry on the weekends, letting go of all their cares. He had dirtied countless amounts of shirts and tore holes in most of his trousers. The only clothes unscathed were his Sunday best.

            “I’m sorry,” Sherry broke the silence.

            “Don’t be,” Bake got up, dusting himself off. “I hate when people say that. You weren’t the cause of it so don’t apologize.”

            “What am I supposed to say, then?” Sherry got up and faced Bake, folding her arms.

            “How the hell am I supposed to know?” He laughed, scratching the back of his head. “Now c’mon, kid – how’s about heading back?”

            “All right – but not that way,” Sherry jerked her thumb at the muddy slope. “Let’s go through the forest and find our way back.”

            “There’s the Sherry I know,” Bake smiled, following her into the woods.

            It took them awhile. They stumbled through more mud, got caught in a few branches and narrowly missed some poison ivy, but they eventually found the road – a main road.

            They looked like ragamuffins as they wandered along; laughing at the reactions of the well dressed folks they passed by. Bake saluted to the cars that honked.

            “Let me look at you,” Sherry was doubled over in laughter.

            Bake stood up straight and put out his arms as Sherry looked him over.

            His brown fedora was squished and lay straight on his head. The breast pocket of his shirt was ripped, and the whole thing stained with mud. The knees on his trousers were worn and his shoes would need a lot of care to salvage them. The only thing protecting his identity was the sunglasses.

            It was his turn now.

            He found it funny how she had managed to get mud on her cheek. Her hair was frizzy and her hat was falling off. Surprisingly, aside from being dirty, her dress was still intact. She had neglected to put her shoes back on and was walking down the side of the road in her nylons.

            “We’re a mess,” Bake laughed, shaking his head.

            They eventually found their way back to his car, and like he had done that morning, let out a yelp as they sped down the road.

            “My parents will be absolutely _thrilled_ that I have already ruined their pristine reputation,” Sherry beamed and then continued in a mocking voice, “My goodness, did you see that Martin girl? Why, she was walking down the road in just her _stockings_.”

            Bake pulled up in front of Sherry’s house.

            “Should I come inside with you? Shoulder some of the blame?” He asked.

            “Don’t you worry about me,” she winked as she got out of the car. “Just be here at seven tonight – we’re still going to see that picture.”

            Bake waited until she was inside before driving off.

            Reality hit him like a steel beam. _Shit!_ What the hell would his father say about his clothes? _Shit, shit, shit, shit,_ he repeated in his mind. Maybe if he put his jacket on he wouldn’t look as bad.

            He fixed his hat and tried to brush himself off as much as he could. Maybe he would be lucky – maybe his father had gone out – improbable but not impossible.

            Bake went inside as quietly as he could...but it was no use. His father was sitting in the armchair, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he read a magazine.

            “Uh, hi-ya, Pop,” Bake smiled worriedly.

            His father looked him over quickly, “Goddamnit, Vernon!”

****

            Bake rubbed his jaw as he waited outside for Harry, honking his horn again.

            “Shut up, I’m comin’,” Harry called from his bedroom window, disappearing, only to reappear on the front porch. He danced along the front walk as slowly as he could to annoy Bake. “What’s the matter with your face?” He asked as he got in the car.

            Bake sighed as he put the car in drive.

            “Oh,” Harry figured it out, quickly changing the subject. “So, who’s your date? Or is this going to turn out to be a daisy chain?”

            “Aw, shut up you grease ball,” Bake shoved him.

            “Well, gimme the low down, then.”

            “It’s a surprise,” he smiled at Harry.

            “I can dig it,” Harry sat back, pushing his hat forward. “So what picture we goin’ to see?”

            “The Great Ziegfeld,” Bake replied, rolling the “r”, “Y’know, that new one with William Powell and Myrna Loy.”

            Harry rubbed his hands together, “I’m going to marry that woman one day. That cute little nose makes me melt.”

            “Good luck with that, kid. I’ll take Ginger Rogers, myself.”

            “Gee, those little starlets sure are swell!” Harry grinned, putting his hands behind his head.

            Bake pulled up outside of Sherry’s house, getting out of the car to the surprise of Harry.

            “Say, where the hell are we,” Harry asked as he followed Bake.

            “Shut up, knucklehead, where do you think we are?”

            “Oh, is this your dame’s house?” Harry let out a low whistle, “Not too shabby, kid.”

            Bake slapped his friend on the back of his head, knocking his hat off, “When I say shut up, I mean it – now shut up, will ‘ya?”

            Bake knocked on the door. It was Lizzie who answered.

            “Tonight’s full of surprises, isn’t it?” Harry laughed, “I didn’t know you hung around rich broads.”

            Unfortunately, Sherry’s father was at the door, standing behind Lizzie. Harry’s eyes widened as he bit his fist. Bake covered his face with his hand and shook his head, resisting the urge to camel kick him.

            “I told you to shut up!” He muttered.

            “Harry Wallace,” Mr. Martin held out a hand. “It’s been a while.”

            “Uh, yes, sir,” Harry shook his hand, not remembering who he was.

            Sherry appeared then, smiling at the rest of the group. Harry’s brow furrowed as he looked at her. Sherry smirked and folded her arms, “Don’t think too hard, Harry. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

            “It’s been a while, Sherry,” Harry smiled as he pulled her into a bear hug, kissing her cheek. Pulling back, he continued, “Sorry about that comment – you ain’t no broad.”

            “You’re cute,” Sherry flicked his tie as she walked past him before calling back to her father. “I’ll be back before the sun comes up.”

            The lot was packed with teenagers looking for a good time. There wasn’t much to do in a small town, and most kids ended up going to the movies.

            “Have you ever seen so many rumble seats?” Harry laughed as he put his arm around Lizzie.

            “Don’t you get any ideas,” Lizzie scolded. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

            “Always gumming the works,” Harry sighed.

            “Oh, Sherry, ain’t he just a pip?” Lizzie looked up as William Powell appeared on the big screen. “I really go for a guy with a moustache.”

            “Maybe I should grow one,” Harry stated to which Lizzie stuck her tongue out.

            “Aren’t they making a new Astaire-Rogers picture?” Sherry asked. “Boy, Fred sure is dreamy.”

            “That funny-lookin’ kid?” Harry laughed. “He’s a walking skeleton!”

            “He’s charming!” Sherry defended herself. “And he’s like a little boy; I just want to eat him up.”

            They quieted down after a few “Sssssh’s” from the audience. Then Harry and Lizzie started getting all cute. Bake tried to ignore them, but it was still pretty awkward.

            “I’m going to go get some popcorn,” Bake announced. “Anyone want anything?”

            “Yeah get me a bucket of some,” Harry replied without breaking his gaze from Lizzie.

            “I’ll come,” Sherry said quickly.

            Bake waited until they were out of earshot before speaking, “Was that as awkward for you as it was for me?”

            “Probably even more so,” Sherry agreed. “Are they always like that?”

            “Long as I can remember...at least you’re here – I’ve always been the third wheel.”

            “I am so sorry,” Sherry said sincerely.

            “You’d think they’d wait till they were alone,” Bake shook his head as he approached the concession stand, buying a bucket of popcorn. “Harry won’t notice if we don’t buy him anything...Want some?”

            Sherry took a handful, “We might as well sit here – I don’t really want to go back over.”

            They sat down on a bench, sharing the popcorn.

            “Nice tune,” Bake nodded at the screen. “You like it?”

            Sherry nodded.

            “ _A pretty girl is like a melody/That haunts you night and day._ ” Bake sang along, serenading Sherry who blushed and looked at her hands. “Dance with me?” Bake held out his hand which she took timidly.

            He brought her close, dancing in a small circle as he whistled along.

            She fit well in his arms. She was just the right height – about as high as his nose. His arm fit perfectly around her waist.

            Sherry reached up and kissed his cheek before laying her head on his shoulder. It was his sore cheek, the one that would show a bruise in the morning. Her lips were soft and cool and soothed the pain, a shiver running through his body at the contact. He sighed in contentment and leaned his head against hers. Everything else faded away as he focused on the girl in his arms, her cheek pressed against his bruised one.

            _A pretty girl is just like a pretty tune..._ And Bake sure loved the music.


End file.
